


Some nights I wake up, some nights I'm not alone

by deadb4credits



Series: All in good time (we'll be just fine) [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 08:53:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadb4credits/pseuds/deadb4credits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has a nightmare about his mother and goes to her grave to calm down. He finds something there that he wasn't expecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some nights I wake up, some nights I'm not alone

**Author's Note:**

> This can easily be read on its own.
> 
> Beta'd by my faithful beta [scribblscrabbl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblscrabbl/pseuds/scribblscrabbl)!

Stiles kneels down, dew-wet grass soaking his jeans, making shivers run up his legs, seep into his bones and settle there like an old ache.

It’s sometime after 5 in the morning and the sun has barely risen above the horizon, shrouding the world in a hazy not-yet-light, dark enough that you stumble over your feet, but bright enough that you can make out the bulky shape of trees and black iron fences. 

In the distance there’s a lone bird singing, but Stiles barely notices it as he brushes leaves off the stone, fingers caressing the inscription. He doesn’t come here as often as he used to, not because he’s _forgotten_ but because with every passing year since he was first here, he’s realised that his mom is no more in the ground below his feet than she is in his bedroom at night. He still goes though (of course he does), makes sure the grave looks beautiful (grass trimmed, weeds pulled, the stone shining as brightly as the day it was put there) brings flowers and tells her stories, just not as often.

Today though. Today he’s there for a different reason. And it’s only when he touches his hand to the cool stone, fingers going numb from the sheer cold that his heart rate starts slowing down. 

He’d had a nightmare, nothing new there, but this time it’d been about her, about her fading away. First it was her face dragged into darkness, swallowed whole as Stiles struggled to get to her, but he was stuck in nothing. Then her voice, flickering around him, pulsing like a beating heart and it was so tangible he was sure he could reach out and touch her, but there was nothing. In the next second there was only silence, so thick and terrifying that Stiles tried shouting to block it out, but his voice was gone too. The dream had shifted and he was suddenly staring at her open empty grave, gaping like a wound. Before his eyes her name was erased from the gravestone, letters whisked away until the stone was completely smooth.

Blinking rapidly, Stiles’ fingers move over her name again and he presses his fingers against the letters hard, letting them imprint his skin and settle there, knowing it isn’t permanent, but needing the brand for at least a little while. 

The sky is getting lighter now, he can almost read her name off the stone without the need of touch, but he can’t take his hands off it. The pull in his chest, the tightness in his lungs is still too strong, he needs the reassurance almost as bad as he needs to breath. Knows, in some part of his brain, that sitting on top of her grave is not gonna bring him closer to her, but somehow _knowing_ that she is below him, in the most morbid fashion, calms some of the raging inside of his head.

Sun brushes across the grass to his right and he squints, only realising how long he’s sat there when the glittering of the wet grass draws his attention. Raising a numb hand he rubs it over his face, feeling tears he didn’t realise he cried. With a tired sigh, he leans forward and rests his forehead against the stone, hands fisted into his jeans as he wishes a thousand times over for something that has never come true.

There’s a rustle somewhere off to his left and Stiles raises his head slowly, aware for the first time of the lack of birdsong.

And there. There Derek is, bathed in sharp, golden morning light, his hands hanging limply by his sides, the expression on his face a mixture of hesitation and understanding. They stare at each other for a long time, the stillness all around finally creeping into Stiles‘ body and he can feel his breathing become a little less frantic for the first time since he woke up. 

As by some unspoken agreement, Derek takes a slow step forward, keeping his eyes on Stiles all the while. When Stiles doesn’t stop him, he takes another until he’s standing beside Stiles, enough space separating them that he’s not actually on the grave, but just beside it. 

Stiles turns his eyes back to the stone, hands lying relaxed in his lap, but from the corner of his eye he can see Derek kneeling down too, mimicking his position. 

They sit like that for a while, Stiles has no idea for how long, but when he’s finally convinced himself that her name is not going to disappear from the stone because he looks away, the sun has spread across the entire graveyard and he can feel the warmth across his numb body. 

Letting his fingers brush over her name one last time, he closes his eyes for a moment and breathes deeply, the solidity of the inscription and the smell of earth gravitating him. Then he gets up on shaky legs, knees and spine creaking as he straightens to his full height for the first time in hours. 

His entire body hurts from the hunched position he’s been sitting in and he’s completely numb from the cold, but his heart feels light, like it’s been filled with the sun shining down on him, pure and clean and reviving. 

They leave the graveyard in silence, walking side by side, not quite touching, but close enough that Stiles could reach over and grasp Derek’s hand if he wanted to. But he doesn’t.

When they reach the parking area, Stiles stops with a hand on his Jeep and turns around.

“Wait-”

Derek turns and leans against his car, face devoid of emotion, except for his eyes- his eyes that are attentive but not impatient. 

“I-”, and then Stiles flounders for words, swallows heavily and waves his hand towards the graveyard, not really knowing what he wants to say, just _knowing_ that he’s thankful.

“Thank you,” he ends up saying timidly, cringing at how small and child-like his voice sounds.

Derek doesn’t say anything, just stares at him for a little while longer with the same eyes and when he inclines his head there’s a _softness_ to his features, somehow, that’s never been there before. It makes Stiles think that maybe Derek looked like this before the fire, without tension etched into him like a second skin.

The thought dissipates when Derek offers a smile, tiny and muted, but it’s definitely a smile and Stiles finds himself smiling back, the feeling almost alien on his face after this morning, but it strengthens the light in his heart.

Then Derek gets in his car and drives off, leaving Stiles alone with the sun warming his skin from the outside and the brightness of his heart burning on the inside.

In this moment he is okay again, if only for a while, but that’s more than enough. 

And he has a new goal now- to coax that smile back onto Derek’s face.


End file.
